


insufferable

by EphemeralTheories



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Flirting, Cafe Leblanc (Persona 5), Feels, Flirting, Fluff, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 23:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12331458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EphemeralTheories/pseuds/EphemeralTheories
Summary: Insufferable, that’s what Akira Kurusu was, especially when the young man hit a particularly playful stride.





	insufferable

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY TO ME. October 8th has come and gone and all the obligatory social gatherings have passed, so here’s something just for me. ( Side note: Nobody likes you when you’re 23. ) 
> 
> This started as purely self-indulgent with some cringe worthy (flirty) detective / thief lines from our very own Akira Kurusu and features Goro Akechi giving it as good as he gets. But by the end, I think feels actually happened. Hey, gotta go where the muse leads you. So, it’s not pure trash like I originally intended, but hopefully you guys will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. ( Set during canon — I don’t know when but before Sae’s palace / Akechi joining the squad. )
> 
> Catch me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/amgedpha) for complaints about college life and my overly ambitious ideas for fics. [ Disclaimer: I'm also likely to occasionally rant about fictional characters. ]

      Insufferable, that’s what Akira Kurusu was, especially when the young man hit a particularly playful stride. It appeared quite unlike the opinionated, direct young man Goro Akechi met when he was doing a particularly unsavory interview on a talk show.

      Interviews were interviews, though. And it wasn’t as if Akechi presented himself to be exactly who he was in such a public setting. Everyone had their masks. It just so happened that Akechi hadn’t anticipated what might rest beneath Akira Kurusu’s own.

      He was quickly learning of his mistake. at the very least — he convinced himself it must be a mistake, falling into any sense of familiarity with the young man. After all, anything that didn’t revolve around Shido’s demise was a distraction and Akechi didn’t have that luxury to humor such trivialities.

      Yet, Akira Kurusu seemed to have this uncanny aura around him that coaxed Akechi into lowering his guard, however minutely.

      “Detective,” Kurusu had said from the other side of the counter, a devilish grin pulling at his features. “I’ve got a confession to make.”

      Akechi wasn’t quite sure what compelled him to humor the barista.

      “And what would that be, Kurusu-san?” In retrospect, Akechi blamed the relaxing atmosphere of LeBlanc for whatever trap he just walked himself into.

      “I’m guilty,” Kurusu responded, grin never leaving his face, even as he haphazardly ( but efficiently ) dried off a seemingly endless string of glassware and mugs for use by other patrons.

      It’s not particularly busy, seeing as Akechi is the only customer at this moment, but the ace detective is inclined to believe that the proprietor of this little cafe would not stand for Kurusu simply lazing about, especially with his criminal background. ( He should note that he isn’t that well acquainted with Sojiro Sakura or, Boss, as the man insisted he call him. )

      That line of thought drew a response from him, “Of course the rumors of your criminal background would be true,” Akechi mused, though there was no bite to his words. In the eyes of the law, it was fact. The detective dealt in truth, though he did find it odd that Kurusu would feel compelled to admit something Akechi would likely already know.

      It’s not as if the detective prince had the tendency to acquaint himself with others without doing his research.

      A small laugh escaped the barista before he said, “No, that’s not it.”

      Part of Akechi was relieved that this meeting wasn’t delving into the business of a heart to heart, though he would not be surprised if that were the case. ( This level of ‘friendship’ seemed to coincide with such incidents. ) He simply smiled, slipping easily into the persona he’d come to favor when faced with this potential phantom thief.

      He’d never confess how close it felt to stripping himself of his mask.

      And he’d be damned if he were to admit that it made something in his chest stir that hadn’t since before his mother died.

      After a moment, eyes narrowing slightly at his companion, Akechi spoke, “Perhaps I should list your charges, then. Surely you don’t believe I regretted to do a background check before pursuing an acquaintanceship with you.” 

      “And here I thought I’d seized enough of your interest at the television studio,” Kurusu said, leaning a bit forward, the sound of the glass hitting the counter as he placed it down ringing in Akechi’s ears. “We never did go out for pancakes.”

      Akechi had tensed at the action, though his features hadn’t faltered. Something in Kurusu’s gaze told him to raise his guard again. He ignored the instinct. Instead, Akechi shrugged, “It’s not everyday someone doesn’t who I am, let alone challenges me.”

      Kurusu is quiet for a moment, the curve of his mouth falling ever so slightly. Akechi’s strikingly aware of every second passing and considers that perhaps he said something wrong. His expression didn’t betray the feeling, though, as gloved hands close around the coffee cup placed before his person.

      “So,” Kurusu smiled once again, as if he hadn’t been tediously examining the detective’s face for something. Akechi, of course, couldn’t guess what the barista had hoped to find. ( He assumed the other’s thorough examination had been fruitless. ) It’s Kurusu’s voice that recaptured his attention, “Goro Akechi likes a _challenge_ ,” Kurusu said, smirk returning full-force, “Is that why you’re so interested in the Phantom Thieves?”

      “You could say so,” Akechi responded, glad for the return of Kurusu’s light tone. It eased whatever tension the silence of moments before wrought in his form. “But what’s this of a confession, if your intention was not to reveal that you did, in fact, assault an innocent man.”

      Akechi ignored the awful taste calling Shido innocent left in his mouth.

      “So, I do have _your interest_?” Kurusu asked, and a very small part of the detective is thankful for the immediate distraction.

      That, of course, did little to stop Akechi from rolling his eyes at the flirtatious lilt in Kurusu’s tone. “You’re incorrigible — Kurusu. We both know I’m likely to accomplish nothing if I were to simply attempt to evade your demands for my attention.” The detective smiled despite himself. “Though I must confess, our conversations are generally interesting enough.”

      “Perhaps, even titillating, if you will,” Kurusu offered, not missing a beat.

      Akechi arched a brow at Kurusu’s word choice, yet excused the possible implications, for surely, even Kurusu was not so bold as to claim he found their interactions arousing. “I’m glad to hear you agree, Kurusu-san. — You have the floor.”

      “Just a sec,” Kurusu said, discarding the cloth in his hands and quickly removing the green apron that donned his person. He moved from behind the counter and out the door of Leblanc, only to return a moment later, taking a seat beside the detective. “So,” Kurusu began, pausing a beat, “I just thought I ought to tell you that I’m a Phantom Thief.”

      Akechi was quiet, startled by the confession. He, for once, was speechless. It couldn’t be that his plan, nearly three years in the making was corrupted, destroyed by something spoken of with the triviality of the weather. He knew he was silent for a moment too long, considering how the smirk upon Kurusu’s lips grew into a full blown grin.

      This prompted a flash of heat to rise to Akechi’s cheeks. He turned away from Kurusu, taking a deep breath in effort to ease the flush of his features. When he turned back to Kurusu, he was unsurprised and unamused to find a smile still pulling at the barista’s features.

       ( He’d like to wipe it off. )

      Embarrassing his companion couldn’t be that difficult — right? Akechi would only have to pry his own jaw open in the process, but he could justify nurturing certain thoughts he might harbor about Kurusu in effort to lead to the other’s downfall.

      It might even be fun, to pretend, if only for a moment.

      “And I suppose you aim to steal my heart?” Akechi responded, an innocent grin curving the line of his mouth. “Would you rather I cuff you now or do you plan on resisting arrest?”

      Kurusu’s grin didn’t falter but his eyes glinted in the spare lighting of Leblanc. Akechi is suddenly struck with the thought that this must have been Kurusu’s plan the entire time. ( It’s impressively devious. )

      “If you really are an ace detective, you’ll catch me in the act.”

      And now Kurusu was preying on his competitive nature.

      That’s not to mention how Akechi couldn’t stand how he walked himself into a battle of wits, presented in of all mediums in existence, that of flirting.

      Akechi was fairly aware that he was playing right into Kurusu’s hands, but he was willing to take on Kurusu, if only for a match. He reached for the tie around his own neck, which felt a bit too tight and loosened it, his blazer having already been draped across the back of the chair in which he sat.

      “I’ll have you know, Kurusu, that I absolutely live for the chase.”

      Kurusu looked entirely too smug as responded, “Are you sure you can keep up?” Akechi didn’t fail to notice how Kurusu seemed to lean forward as he spoke.

      This confidence, this bravado, was absolutely Akira Kurusu’s best and worst quality. Akechi envied him for it, but the detective had plenty of practice mimicking the behaviors of someone far more self-assured than himself.

      “I assure you that I’ll have no problem meeting you at the finish,” Akechi said, mirroring Kurusu’s body language.

      The smile pulling at Kurusu’s lips turned mischievous, a challenge escaping his lips, “I look forward to seeing you try. — Want to start now?”

      Akechi sighed, bringing a hand up to brush his bangs back, only to have them fall back into place a moment later. “You truly are too much, Kurusu.”

      “Call me Akira,” Kurusu said then, “And you know, _Goro_ , I could show you exactly how _much_ I am.” Kurusu, or he supposed, Akira had the gall to wink.

      Akechi scoffed, pushing his chair back and standing in one fluid motion. “It’s getting late and you can’t be serious,” The detective shook his head, moving to retrieve his blazer from the back of the chair. He noted that Akira also rose from where he sat. “Tell me — do you speak to all of your friends like this?”

      Akechi didn’t audibly groan when Akira placed a hand on his blazer, keeping it firmly in place. And too his credit, he also didn’t visibly tense at Akira’s proximity because suddenly the other man was very close.

      “Well, no,” Akira said then, voice noticeably lower than it was a moment before, “but I’m not exactly 30 seconds away from bending _them_ over this counter.”

      Akechi generally didn’t respond well to threats, but this was in fact a _type_ of threat he’d never really received in person. ( His fans hardly counted. )

      The idea was actually a bit, _titillating,_ and Akechi cursed not only himself for feeding into such thoughts about Akira in some attempt at proving his superiority to his companion but also Akira for looking at him with pupils just a bit dilated and something like hope in his eyes.

      Akechi let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and pulled at the collar of his shirt once more, the tie around his neck a disaster compared to when he’d first entered Leblanc’s doors.

       Akira had said what he said, though and while Akechi kept his features relatively stoic when he spoke, he was certain that this was more than just a competition now.

      Yet, that didn’t mean Akechi intended to allow Akira to win.

      “You must forgive me, Kurusu, I did not intend to lead you on to —,” Akechi stated, only to be interrupted by his companion. 

      “Akira,” Akira corrected him, scratching the back of his head, a flush painting his cheeks. He almost seemed embarrassed, taking a step back and out of Akechi’s space, “And let me guess, I’m coming on too strong?”

      “Akira,” Akechi sighed, valiantly resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “if you would allow me to finish my previous statement…” Akechi caught Akira’s gaze, but didn’t continue speaking until the other man nodded, “I did not intend to lead you on to believe that I would allow you to overpower me — for if we are to play cops and robbers, would it not be the place of the detective to subdue the thief?”

      The ever suave Akira was quiet then and Akechi could not help but relish in silent victory. He donned his blazer, noting how Akira’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the action.

      “Yet, with that, I must take my leave.” Akechi picked up his briefcase and made way to the door, but not before Akira called out to him.

      “Akechi, wait,” Akira said.

      “Yes, Kurusu?” Akechi replied, turning around to face Akira.

      He hadn’t realized how close Akira was, their faces now mere inches apart. What was even more startling though was how Akira’s hands were quick to reach for and lightly tug at the tie around his neck. Akechi, in his defense, did not intend to be coaxed closer by it.

      There was nowhere to look besides Akira’s eyes or mouth because of their proximity. Akechi loathed how difficult he found it to maintain eye contact when his gaze caught sight of how Akira’s teeth worried his lower lip as his hands worked deftly to adjust Akechi’s tie.

      “As good as you might look disheveled,” Akira said, eyes glancing up to meet Akechi’s. “I didn’t think you’d like your adoring public to see you as anything less than put together.”

      The explanation was almost — thoughtful, as if Akira had truly seemed to consider what little background Akechi made him privy to and formed his own conclusions, ones based on supporting Akechi’s decisions instead of condemning them. ( It almost seemed as if Akira understood how hard Akechi worked to be perceived as more than just an orphan. )

      It was an odd, but not unwelcome sentiment that worked at the knots in his chest, which made him quick to be skeptical of it. He was seconds away from convincing himself Akira was messing with him when he noticed the curve of the other man’s mouth. The tilt of his lips was too slight to be intentional.

      Akechi didn’t know if he could allow that to be all the proof he needed. After all, people had gotten his hopes up before, only to crush them. He had learned from a young age that people like him don’t get people like Akira in their lives and if they did, it never lasted long.

      All the same, Akira’s hands lingered on his tie and Akechi could not find it in himself to pull away.

      Akechi swallowed hard, vulnerable underneath Akira’s gaze, his tie serving as a proverbial noose around his neck. He considered momentarily the thought of hanging himself with it, of confessing the litany of sins he’s committed, of crucifying himself before the storm of Akira’s eyes. _Disheveled_ he would be indeed, a corpse of a prince in the arms of a _thief_.

      ( He was forced once more to remind himself that he’d done too much to change his path now, especially not for the sake of one man. His justice was practically within his grasp. )

      Akechi was too aware of taking a moment too long to respond, and when he did speak, what he said wasn’t dismissive. Akira was far too adept at picking the locks Akechi had formed around his heart and Akechi’s half-truths were nowhere to be found. “You must know that there are a great many who wouldn’t mind seeing me torn apart.”

      Akira hummed an acknowledgement, but surprised Akechi in his response. Akira asked, “What about the opposite?”

      “Pardon?”

      “Do you know how many want to keep you together?”

      Akechi couldn’t hide the way his breath hitched at the implication. Akira was not trying to convince him that he had no enemies. — No, rather, it seemed he was suggesting that Akechi might have allies. ( He didn’t linger long on how disappointed he seemed to feel about telling Akira this truth. )

      “No, uh. — No one comes to mind.”

      “Then,” Akira said, the smile splitting his lips infuriatingly genuine, “there’s no harm in letting me try.”

      “Akira —,” Akechi sighed, shaking his head. “Surely, you jest.”

      “I might have a history of being a joker, but I like to think you know me better than that.”Akira responded, gaze once more prompting tension in the detective’s form. Part of Akechi loathed how easy it was dismiss the feeling. Another part found it liberating.

      Despite this, Akechi smiled, taking a step back from Akira, the tie slipping from the other man’s grasp. Akechi’s eyes found the floor beneath their feet as a confession of his own escaped his lips. “I — truly don’t have the luxury to learn another’s nuances.”

      “Yet,” Akira said, closing the distance that Akechi just placed between them. “I see you here so often. Why is that?”

      A thousand answers thrust themselves to the forefront of Akechi’s consciousness.

      ( His aim was not to study Akira. It was not to gain his trust. It also held no weight in regard to the barista’s claim that he was a Phantom Thief. It most certainly was not because Akechi had come to enjoy Akira’s company — and it had nothing to do with Akira’s very presence, nor the strength of Akira’s convictions which first drew Akechi’s attention his way. )

      It was certainly not because Akechi had grown to like Akira. He had already claimed that he didn’t have that luxury.

      “As I’ve said before, I find Leblanc quite comforting.”

      Akira said nothing in response and the silence that hung in air between them was borderline unbearable. Akechi hardly registered when Akira’s hand reached up to his tie once more. He was more than ready to bolt, but detective princes did not flee. Their exits were graceful — so Akechi’s would be, too.

      “If you’ll excuse me, Kurusu, I must be on my way.”

      Akechi could not have predicted what happened next. His tie was pulled forward forcefully, him along with it. The briefcase in his hand clattered against the floor and both of his hands found purchase against Akira’s chest. And then, most surprisingly, a warm mouth pressed against his own.

      Akira Kurusu, in all his boldness, was stealing, of all things, a kiss. The man was insufferable, the hand pulling at Akechi’s tie loosen its grasp to find his waist, the other apply gentle pressure to his hip. Akechi briefly registered that Akira’s grip was likely one of the only things that prevented the both of them from crashing to the ground moments beforehand.

      Circumstances aside, Akechi had to prove to be a man of his word, for the detective’s job was to subdue the thief. ( Allowing himself to think this was anything other than a way to surpass Akira was such a tantalizing option, one he wanted more than anything to allow — it constricted his chest in a way he’d experienced before, but had only known until now how to associate with pain. )

      He could pretend, once more, that this was real. That his relationship with Akira was built on something other than suspicion, that he and Akira were ordinary teens in an ordinary world that had a real chance at being something more than just this moment.

      But this wasn’t real and Akechi knew he could never have Akira and if Akira were to ever learn what truly rested behind Akechi’s mask, Akechi was sure that Akira would never want him, too.

      All the same, Akechi responds to the kiss with vigor, hands winding into the fabric of Akira’s shirt as he finds his back pressed flush against the door of the cafe.

      It’s over too quickly, Akechi thought, even as they both broke for air, foreheads resting against each other. Akechi’s eyes stayed closed and something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh echoes quietly between the space between them. Akira was smiling when Akechi finally found it in himself to break whatever spell overtook him mere moments before. He felt the curious tug of his own lips upward, too.

      This must be what everyone else felt like, a scorching heat having ignited in his chest. 

      This was a mistake. He knew it was a mistake — but he’d like to make it again. Maybe make it sooner, for fate had never been kind to Goro Akechi. And if there was fire within him — not in the guise of hate or under the command of vengeance — he would surely burn in.

      He supposed only time would tell what mask would remain when flames subsided.

      “Akira…” Akechi whispered the other man’s name like a promise, even as Akira took a step back, fixing Akechi’s tie once more.

      Akira retrieved Akechi’s briefcase then, handing to Akechi, whose hands suddenly felt useless without Akira’s shirt to grasp onto. The case was an unfulfilling substitute.

      “Come by more often,” Akira offered, the same smile from moments before pulling easily at his features. “I’d like to see you again.”

      Akechi felt heat stain his features pink. Of course Akira would send him off with a declaration that sounded so similar to that of a farewell at the end of a date. 

      Reprimanding Akira was the first thing that crossed Akechi’s mind but what came out of his mouth was, “Of course.”

      Akira insisted on walking him to the station, then, standing incredibly close — though his presence was more soothing than overbearing. He waved Akechi off with a far too genuine grin and Akechi couldn’t help the slight curve of his lips at the sight.

      When Akechi reached his apartment his immediately closed the door behind him and dropped the entirety of his weight against it, briefcase falling the floor for the second time that night.

      He cursed himself and he cursed Akira.

      For how insufferable Akira Kurusu was — in making Goro Akechi believe that home could feel like the arms of a man whose life he might be destined to end.


End file.
